


Daddy Day Care

by GwendolynGrace



Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkwardness, Crack, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Humor, Men with Children, Modern Era, One Shot, Turtles, Washingdad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 06:04:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5901130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolynGrace/pseuds/GwendolynGrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The phone rings. Before Washington can even move, Mulligan picks up the receiver. "Founding Fathers Day Care," he says smoothly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daddy Day Care

**Author's Note:**

> This hit me as a plot bunny and I thought it'd be simple, fun crack, and then it became surprisingly hard to write. I had to start over many times before I got something remotely usable. I think it might be one of those ideas that works better as a cartoon or art than an actual narrative, but, meh. Total crack, total fluff. I just wanted to see these gentlemen taking charge of a day care center. No, really. That's it.
> 
> See them any way you want. I went back and forth about three times between "modern era" and "canon era" and I kept having trouble being too literal. This is the result of me beating my canon-era tendencies down with a stick until they shut up. 
> 
> This owes a huge debt to Lin-Manuel Miranda and the musical versions of the persons depicted herein. It also owes debts of inspiration to the awesome and talented Mira_Jade for her absolutely wonderful fic [ "Keep the Light in"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5343737%22).

"Gentlemen, we are about to face our greatest challenge," Washington tells the men seated around him at the conference table.

"Oh, come on, George. How hard can it _be_?" Jefferson scoffs. "They're just _children_."

"Harder than you might think," Laurens grumbles. Of all the assembled men, he seems the most reticent.

"Nonsense," Jefferson insists. "We're all parents--or step-parents," he amends, nodding to Madison and Washington. "Well, other than Laurens."

"Hey, I have a daughter," Laurens says.

"Whom you never met," Hamilton mutters, uncharacteristically darkly.

"I _met _her, I just didn't--"__

"My children are all grown," Adams notes. Although the comment is somewhat non-sequitur, it effectively derails what Washington suspects might have been a rare point of contention brewing between Hamilton and Laurens.

"Does that mean you've forgotten how?" Hamilton quips at his party-mate.

"No," Adams says testily, "It just means...I've done my child-rearing."

"Apparently, someone thinks otherwise, or you wouldn't be here," says Hamilton.

"How many children were you up to, Hamilton?" Madison prompts.

"Eight. Not counting the adoptions."

"Eight? Jesus," Laurens comments. "You were busy."

"Yes, Hamilton's certainly--experienced," Washington says, sensing that he needs to reassert control, "but his point is well-taken. One doesn't exactly forget how to look after children. And it's only for a few days, God willing, until Martha and the others can return."

"From where, again?" Burr whispers to Laurens.

"I dunno, I mean, I've been dead. But here I am! Just go with it."

"Okay," Burr says with a shrug.

"Anyway," Washington continues, allowing a tiny bit of annoyance to creep into his voice, "there are approximately 20 children coming today, and we need to keep them entertained, feed them, and see to their educational needs for as long as we happen to be in charge of them."

They all look around at each other. 

"We'll be fine, sir," Hamilton says first.

"Sure, we will," Jefferson drawls.

They all jump on the bandwagon, promising to pitch in as necessary and pledging not to let their Commander-in-Chief down.

"It will be fine! We are all quick, clever, and tolerant," a new voice pronounces in a cultured French accent.

"Lafayette!" Laurens, Hamilton, and Washington all cry at once. Lafayette closes the back door behind him.

"There's not a man here who has not faced a similar enemy, mon père." He immediately crosses to embrace Washington, then Hamilton. "Good to see you," he says to Laurens. "I'll face a room full of children over a cell in the Bastille any day."

"Well, this enemy will be entirely unpredictable," Washington warns.

"That's true," Hamilton points out. "No matter how prepared you think you are, they'll surprise you."

"And on that note," says Washington, rising, before anyone else can open a debate with Hamilton, "I think there's little point in delaying further. Shall we?"

They walk out of the rear office and into the large playroom. Interlocking puzzle-mats make up a cushy play area in one quarter of the room; the corner is separated by low bookcases full of board, picture, and other appropriate books. Next to the shorter row of bookcases are several small, circular tables with chairs especially sized for their young charges, along with easels, paper, coloring books, crayons and all manner of other art supplies. To the other side of the room is an area with games: Duplo blocks, Candyland, Chutes and Ladders, a dozen other selections, and a small section with a television and blu-ray player. Tiny cubbyholes for coats, hats, and boots line up against the picture window at the very front of the open hall.

And there's a line of parents outside with their children.

Washington unlocks the door and they stream in. As the parents help them remove coats and boots, the children swarm all over every area. Mulligan talks to each parent, checking the kids in with magnets on a big board on the wall.

Washington pauses a moment, wondering if he ought to assign areas for them to supervise. He need not have worried, however, for they each gravitate to little knots of youngsters. Hamilton goes straight for the reading area, sits cross-legged on the floor with the children, and is soon helping the little ones make selections or to sound out words. Burr and Jefferson drift to the music area; before long they are leading several sing-alongs. Adams and Madison take charge of the games. Laurens holds back, but Lafayette smiles at him, takes his hand, and brings him over to the art studio. Laurens bends over the shortened easels and looks at the coloring books. Slowly, a smile lights his face. 

"Hey, kids, who wants to learn to draw a turtle?"

The phone rings. Before Washington can even move, Mulligan picks up the receiver. "Founding Fathers Day Care," he says smoothly. "Sure, we can look after him. Let me put him in our database…."

As Washington surveys the highly unlikely success, a hand touches his leg, just above the knee. He looks down at an inquisitive three-year-old. 

His first instinct is to draw back, as he always reacts to unexpected contact, a touch he does not initiate or welcome. But he's all too aware of the other men in the large room, the example he has to be. Then again, Madison is the only other man here without his own born children, and Laurens the only one who never raised a child, and even they are gradually shedding their reservations in the face of the children's open and honest behavior. So instead, he crouches down to get on eye-level with the child.

"Well, now," he says, smiling at her, "What's your name?"

She whispers something barely audible. He glances up at the big attendance board, where the children's names are all printed in large letters. "Let me see, you're Sonequa, aren't you?"

She nods, eyes growing bigger.

"What would you like to do this morning, Sonequa?"

She starts to babble, pointing at the Duplos and the dollhouse in the corner of the game area. 

"That's a fine idea," Washington tells her. "Why don't you run along and play over there?"

Sonequa says, "Okay." She takes a step and then looks back at him. "No, you come, too!" she says.

"Oh, no, honey, I'm not here to play," Washington says, rising.

Sonequa's lip juts out a fraction. She takes his big, meaty hand and tugs. "Come play!"

Looking around at how engaged all his subordinates are with the children, Washington reminds himself of his duty. "Well, all right. For a little while."

Sonequa sets up a Duplo farm and next to it puts a Fisher-Price playset featuring a beauty parlor. "You bring all the animals to the beauty salon," she explains, "and I'll make them look all nice."

"Er--" Washington says. It's not lost on him that she's given him the "easy" part of the game. "Don't you have other friends to play with?" he asks her doubtfully.

She shrugs. "Tyler's over there," she says, pointing at the music area, "and Danica's over there," indicating the art lesson Laurens has begun.

"Oh." Well, so much for that. He gamely starts pulling animals out of the farm set and trundling them into the salon. For each creature, Sonequa announces her style advice, pretends to primp the toy for a moment or two, and then sets it aside. It takes about five minutes for her to get bored. It took Washington all of twenty seconds.

However, when he looks up, he notices that a few of the men are watching him carefully. "Problem, gentlemen?" he asks.

They all look away and hurriedly find other things to do, amid overlapping assurances of, "No, sir." Hamilton doesn't feign preoccupation, but instead sets down the book he'd been reading and crosses. "Hi, there," he says to the girl. "We're reading, would you like to come over?"

She shrugs. He looks at Washington and Washington groans inwardly; he recognizes the glint in Hamilton's eye. "How about if His Ex--I mean, the General here is the one reading?"

She brightens and fixes Washington with a gap-toothed smile. 

"I may have to kill you, Hamilton," he mutters, climbing to his feet. 

"Trust me, sir, it's not a capital offence. Come on, sweetheart," he tells Sonequa, and gathers her into his arms. With eight children, it's no surprise that holding a little girl is as natural to Hamilton as it was always awkward for Washington. It was easier with Martha's grandchildren than her children, but other than Nelly, he'd never felt comfortable about it.

Hamilton, meanwhile, has brought her over to the reading nook and set her down on the floor with the others. He selects a picture book and beckons to Washington. "Sit here, sir," he says, offering a rocking chair with a squashy cushion. Then he hands the book to his commander. 

"You're joking," Washington says, looking at the title. 

"Nope," says Hamilton with a grin.

"I'm not reading Dr. Seuss," Washington says. Immediately all the kids begin to pout. "Okay, I'm reading Dr. Seuss."

Somehow they get through the morning, and by about 11:30, Washington reflects, things are going about as well as anyone could have hoped. He still would rather have faced the entire British army and navy completely by himself than have to do this for however long it will take for Martha to come back, but, really, some of the children were actually quite endearing.

And some were hilarious. They tested even Washington's iron firm control on his sense of humor.

They're getting a little unruly, though. Perhaps after lunch they could put on coats and walk everyone down to the park--

"Oh, Lord. Lunch!" he says aloud to Hamilton. "What are we going to serve them?"

"What's wrong with sandwiches?" Hamilton says. "PB&J , isn't that the usual--"

"Can't do that," Madison points out. "Too many peanut allergies in this crew."

"Well, then--"

"If I may," Jefferson insinuates himself into the conversation. "I'm already on it."

"Oh?"

"Sure. What kid doesn't like mac and cheese?"

All the children pick up the news of their luncheon and repeat it to each other. They jump and shout in excitement. For once, Hamilton has nothing to say. The appeal of Jefferson's signature dish is undeniable. 

Washington can only imagine what revenge Hamilton might be planning to extract. He really hopes Martha comes back while her business is still standing.


End file.
